


I Hate Flying Coach - Sylar

by Sylar (FanficbyLee)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-24
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficbyLee/pseuds/Sylar





	I Hate Flying Coach - Sylar

Characters: Sylar  
Fandom: Heroes  
Rating: R for gore  
Word Count: 863  
Prompt: 24/100 #33 Too Much [](http://100heroesfics.livejournal.com/profile)[**100heroesfics**](http://100heroesfics.livejournal.com/)  
  
for [](http://a-muse-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[**a_muse_meme**](http://a-muse-meme.livejournal.com/)  
Notes - Anytime during the series. One of Sylar's many trips between New York and Costa Verde

The closeness of so many people makes my skin crawl. Every breath I take is warmed by another human being. It stinks of too much perfume and not enough deodorant. The plane is full. I tried changing seats. I tried buying up to first class, but there were no seats available. Instead I’m trapped over the wing, pinned against the window with my legs twisted like a pretzel. Behind me I can taste the perfume the woman sitting there has marinaded in. It takes all I have not to growl when the teenage girl sitting next to me jabs me with her bony elbow.

All I want is to be left alone, so can I crawl into myself. I can taste the apprehension and fear radiating throughout the cabin. It tastes like bitter almonds on my tongue. I much prefer it when I’m the one who caused the terror, but this is the pedestrian fear of flying not fear of the bogyman.

It creeps into my soul, making my grip tighten on the armrest. I need to block it, but the chaos around me won’t let me go to sleep. If I could sleep, I could be alone. I could have peace. As I drift off the perfume drenched woman moves, and I’m once again assaulted. I shift and jerk awake. The child next to me in her pink hoodie and glitter coated jeans glares at me. Her friend looks at me from hooded eyes. They’re both annoyed because I’ve interrupted their constant string of gossip.

Bitches.

I close my eyes again, ignoring them as they start up a DVD on their laptop. I wish I could drown in the engine noise, but I can hear every word coming through their earphones along with every conversation on the plane. The beverage cart has a squeaky wheel, like nails on a chalkboard, as it comes down the narrow aisle. I don’t want anything. A chorus of soda cans being popped open joins the other noises. Not for the first time I regret killing Dale and taking her power. If it weren’t for her ears, I’d only have to deal with the crashing emotional waves.

With my head leaning on the bulkhead I managed to shut away enough of the churning masses to sleep, but it’s only for a few moments before the girls wake me with their giggling. I want to kill them.

I close my eyes and picture it. Walking down the aisle, my hands dripping blood in my wake, as I cut the throat of every single passenger. The walls, carpet and ceiling are splashed in crimson. At the back of the plane the few I haven’t gotten too are pressed against the rear bulkhead. Their terror tastes like honeyed wine. I smile as I slice them to ribbons. The last to die is the girl in pink.

She tries to get away, scrambling behind the others, shoving a gray haired granny in my way. She manages to get into the lavatory, and I can hear her sobbing in fear as I pound on the door. Each time my fist hits the folding door, I hear her whimper. When I finally rip the door free, she’s curled into a ball on the toilet.

“I wanted to sleep. All you had to do was let me sleep, and look what you made me do.” I see my reflection in the mirror; my face is covered in blood splatter, eyes fever bright as I smile at her. I hold her against the wall with my power, then start to cut her apart an inch at a time, peeling off chunks of skin while she screams.

The smell of cheap coffee overpowers everything else, and I’m jerked out of my dream as the pilot announces our final preparation for landing. Around me the tension picks up as the normal fears of a crash on landing travels through the passengers in a wave from the front of the plane to the back.

The flight attendant has to tell the girl in pink three times to shut down her laptop. If I wasn’t afraid of crashing the plane, I’d send an EMP through the damned thing, but I don’t want to die in a plane crash no matter how temporary it would be.

I’m still trapped against the window when we land. That’s when I notice that my feet are cold, and so is my backpack as I pull it from beneath the seat in front of me. Now I know where the bad coffee stink was coming from.

“Son of a bitch!” I swear as I’m finally able to get out into the aisle. Whoever was sitting in front of me spilled coffee while I was asleep. My shoes and bag are covered in it. He didn’t even say he was sorry. I stop in the aisle, lean over and place my hands on the now empty seat in front of mine, reading the memories of the last person to sit there. I get his face. It shouldn’t be too hard to find him in baggage claim. I think I’ll feed him to the conveyor belt. 


End file.
